In the Spirit of the Season
by MalibuSwede
Summary: Semi-canon, semi not. PJ get to have some fun without DJ intervention. Watch their relationship progress over the seasons...including some surprising twists and turns.
1. Valentine's Day 1999

**IN THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON**

**"Happy Valentine's Day"**

I never learn. He invited me to the Valentine's Day dance, but it turns out it was another pre-fab double date. He brought the blonde temptress and stuck me with Don Knotts. The goofy sidekick. I guess that's all we are to him: the entertainment sideshow.

But he's not getting off easy. Uh uh. Not this time. I lead Pacey out onto the dance floor and, surprising even myself, pull him in close enough to smell his cologne. Actually, it smells…good. What fragrance is that? He didn't buy this in a bargain basement; this one has pedigree. I'm thinking Ralph Lauren or something.

What do you know? Pacey Witter has better taste than I thought he did. Except for that godawful red shirt. Could've done without that optical effect.

"So what are we doing here, Jo?"

"Compensating."

"Pissed off much?"

"Very."

He throws me into a dip and neatly pulls me back. I look into his eyes and inexplicably shiver at their astonishing depth. What secrets are lurking in there?

I see Dawson watching us and decide to turn up the heat. I nuzzle Pacey's cheek and, surprisingly, I like it there. The next thing I know, I'm planting butterfly kisses, sweet little ruby red pecks down his neck—and I like that, too.

"Jo?" he says. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Probably not," I agree. I look at his full lips through half-lidded eyes. Do I dare? "Pacey…"

"Joey, stop!"

I look up in horror. Was that Pacey or Dawson who interrupted the moment? My eyes dart back and forth between them and I can't tell. It doesn't matter 'cuz the utter humiliation is coloring my cheeks a nice shade of crimson. I run out of the gym as swiftly as my size 8 feet will take me.

One boy follows. "Joey? What's gotten into you tonight? Are you okay?"

My eyes are brimming with tears but, for some reason, hearing Pacey's voice makes me feel calmer. What's happening here?

"Nothing. Strike one for the hormonally-challenged. I'm sorry, Pace. I just can't watch him parade her around like I don't matter. He takes too much for granted."

"Ah, a disquieting attack of killer teen hormones. Feelings of social inadequacy and general 'how-do-I-measure-up' insecurity about…"

"The Buxom Blonde from Beekman Place."

Pacey moves in closer, nearly pining me against one of the lockers. "Jen is the least of your worries."

"What do you…"

He captures my smudged red lips with his glossed ones, sliding across mine with sensuous ease. I am amazed we never tried this before. He tastes so good. He _feels_ so good. He takes his time as we both warm up to the kiss, which is growing more and more passionate as the seconds tick by.

"Pacey," I whimper. I can't help it. I am so unbelievably turned on. I open my eyes and readjust to the light. I had forgotten we were in a school hallway. Now is not the time to show him what I'm thinking.

"Should we take this somewhere else?" he asks, seeming to intuit my furtive desire. When did he get to be so smart?

"Mmm hmm," I murmur softly—too shy for my own good, if you ask me. Especially considering what we just did!

Our arms wrapped around each other, my head resting against his shoulder, we bounce down the hall to make a quick escape…and are confronted by Dawson and his silver disco shirt before we reach the door.

"Jo…"

"See ya later, Dawson!" I declare enthusiastically—damn, almost merrily. Can that possibly be me?

"Joey?"

"I'm taking her home," Pacey says, opening the door.

I can't help smiling. That perturbed look on Dawson's face is classic. "We're not really going home," I inquire, hopeful, as I slide across the front seat of the Witter Wagoneer.

"Eventually," Pacey replies with a wicked grin.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

"Take this off," I tell her. I can't believe we're actually doing this. I drove as far as the Ice House before Joey showed me a discreet parking place in the alley which, incidentally, has a decent view of the creek.

The scenery is mere cosmetics; she is the real thing.

She looks at me, unsure. "I meant the necklace," I say, gently touching her hand. She reaches back for the clasp and the beads have no sooner slipped into obscurity than I am greedily plundering the sensitive skin under her ear and down her neck to the red satin neckline of her dress. I can't believe how much she is turning me on…how much I am turning _her_ on.

"Mmmmm. You taste _so sweet._"

"Brown sugar and vanilla," she pants, threading her fingers through my hair.

"Really. So tasting Joey Potter has nutritional benefits as well."

"Shut up!" she giggles. Does she even know how sexy she is? I am determined to tell her in actions as well as words. But right now she is drawing me back to her lips. Hungry lips that seem to savor everything.

"Oh God, Jo. Why didn't we do this before?" I query against her luscious mouth.

"I don't know, Pacey. I don't know."

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

I hear the humming of the dryer and a clatter of pans, but all I can focus on is the large cup of black coffee in front of me.

"Joey, is something wrong?" Bessie asks.

"No. Why?"

"You're up early and you woke up smiling. You never wake up smiling."

"So?"

"Where's the barely-awake demeanor, the morning Potter pout? Either I'm misinterpreting grouchy indigestion for a smile or…" She looks at me suspiciously.

"Or what?"

"Somebody got lucky last night."

Some _bodies_ did. Crap. I'm busted for sure. Let's give the senior Potter a round of applause for her spot-on sleuthing. But I'm not saying anything. I just smile.

"You did, didn't you? You and Dawson finally…"

"Hold it. Dawson and I didn't do anything."

"You didn't?"

"No!" That was perhaps a bit too adamant. Try calming down for a second. She doesn't know as much as she thinks she does. There's a knock at the door and I use it as an excuse to slip away from the table.

"Hello, beautiful," he says, and I melt into a pool of goo in a matter of seconds. My voice becomes tiny tot small as I try to force out a reciprocal greeting.

"Hi," I gush. I have absolutely no control over anything in the mind, body or soul department. I feel tremendous waves of energy bouncing between us. It's like being hit by sonar. I'm drawn in by the current and the next thing I know I'm kissing Pacey Witter. Again.

"P-Pacey?" Bessie stutters, dumbfounded.

"Mmmm mmmm…Hi, Bess," he chokes out, miraculously maintaining the contact between us. "We should…go," he growls, softly. That was meant just for me.

" 'K," I whisper on a sigh. If I cared about anything else, I would be embarrassed that I just did that—in front of my sister!—but instead I take his face in my hands for one last sweep of our lips. Pacey grabs my backpack and we stagger out the door.

"Joey?" Bessie calls out in amazement.

"Later, Bess," I toss back. I can't be bothered to shout, certainly not anything more than a couple of nonsensical syllables. Not when he just took my hand in his, entwining our fingers, and I feel my whole body light up.

Like last night.

"So, Jo, I guess we should talk."

I withdraw my hand. "About what?" I reply, instantly wary, already in defense mode and determined to limit the predictable fallout.

"About this," he says, pulling me aside and depositing a generous kiss on my lips. He's so tender I want to cry. How can anything feel this good?

Like last night.

"What do we have to talk about?" I ask, easily shifting gears back. I am oblivious to everything except the sound of his voice, the sensation of his body tacitly pressed against mine.

Like last night.

"Is this going to be a problem for you?"

Kissing him? Holding him? What?

"Seeing Dawson," he clarifies, forcing both of us back into reality.

Oh yeah, him. I almost forgot about that. Block complex relationships, especially quasi-romantic ones, out. "Is it going to be a problem for you?" I respond.

He puts his head down. He's thinking much too hard about it. But then he gazes up at me and his eyes reveal everything. "Nope," he says, grinning slyly. "You?"

"No. Not at all." I smile back. I have to stop this, my face is beginning to hurt.

"Excellent. So then, Miss Potter, shall we proceed to our institution of higher learning?" he asks, putting my arm around his as we begin walking again.

"And that would be?" I retort, leaning into him and nearly catapulting both of us back off the road. He hip-checks me in retaliation.

"Capeside High, little lassie. Capeside High."

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

I spot Jen first. That means Dawson can't be far behind. Jen gives me a worried, quizzical look—I guess Dawson didn't tell her. Maybe he thought he could will it away, will _us_ away. Fat chance. We've been his toy soldiers long enough.

Joey squeezes my hand and I know she's found him in the crowd, passing out casting flyers around the commons. "Do you think if I jump you right here he'll go away?" she murmurs in my ear. My hairs are standing on end.

"It will certainly get his attention."

"Pacey?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Valentine's Day," she says, pushing me down on to the bench while she showers me with kisses—right cheek, left ear, chin…upper lip, lower lip, side…and then deliciously in reverse. Each and every meeting of her lips against mine is a certifiable heartstopper.

I could get used to this.

**Coming soon: 4th of July**


	2. 4th of July

**"Happy Fourth of July"**

The cake pan on the floor was not the only sign that something was awry. The dishes were in the rack to dry, the silverware had been neatly put away, but Joey had yet to finish a single pan stacked up on the Ice House kitchen counter. Neither was her dish rag moving…much.

She moaned as the young man's hands criss-crossed her breasts, pulling her into him as he nuzzled his face into the back of her neck. "Pacey," she sighed.

"What?" he whispered back.

She dropped the dish cloth as she struggled to turn around, capturing his lips while his tactile hands miraculously remained in place on her chest. "Nothing," she hissed, teasing his tongue with hers.

Pacey lifted her up slightly and carried her over to the preparation table, pushing aside the stainless steel mixing bowls before depositing her on the block wood countertop.

She raked her long fingers through his hair. "Your hair's starting to look good," she said. "I like it curly."

"Do you now?" he smiled, burying his face between her breasts. He lavished feather-light kisses up her collarbone to her neck, settling under her ear to suckle gently on downy skin. Joey couldn't help mewling, inspiring an equally stirring physical response in Pacey.

"We've got to get you horizontal soon."

Joey stopped. "I did not hear you just say that!"

"Are you denying that you feel the same way?" Pacey asked, skirting the back of his index finger across her bare waist.

"No…" she acquiesced.

"So what's the problem?"

"You know, Pacey. I'm just not ready yet."

"Jo," he assured her, putting his hands on her face, "I'm not saying we have to have sex. But I think we're way past these little makeout sessions on the sly."

"So what do you suggest?" she queried, kissing the palm of his right hand.

"We need some quality alone time."

"And what does that mean?"

"I don't know," he admitted, suddenly bashful. "I haven't worked it all out yet."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

**MinuteGirl:** _omg did u hear? potter n witter r an item! go figur. how incredibly jejune_

The news of the sheriff's son and the convict's daughter hooking up spread quickly and efficiently through Capeside High via I-M. Of course, since the pair had taken to showcasing their heated PDA in broad daylight on school grounds, neither could exactly complain about the inevitable repercussions: the "benevolent" smiles of acknowledgment, the behind-their-backs eye-rolling, the insidious locker room gossip.

The absurdity of the rumors didn't surprise Joey, but Pacey had a much harder time with it. He couldn't believe that someone like Joey Potter was even interested in him and he was damn proud that she wanted to be his girl. He didn't see the social disparity, and he certainly didn't care if she was popular. He saw a girl destined for greater things—and, if he was lucky, he hoped to tag along…for a little bit, at least. 

Pacey pondered his quandary one day as he waited for his American Literature class to break. _Who's popular in high school?_ he thought, debating a silent nemesis. _If you rule out the chic clique—the fashionistas—the kids who are popular are generally attractive, both physically and because they have that indisputable personal aura; they 'appear' nice (even if they aren't, in fact). Joey isn't always nice, _he conceded,_ and she definitely isn't easy to get to know. She will hit you with her scorpion sting before she'll let you get close to her. But once she does open up,_ he continued, barely able to conceal a grin, _once she makes herself vulnerable to others, most people find her to be surprisingly sweet…even goofy…and of course smart as heck. They actually admire her for her 'pluck'. (Okay, that particular insight comes from the D-man.)_

"Mr. Witter?"

Pacey looked up.

"Aren't we keeping you from something?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so."

"Fine then. Since you've apparently decided to pass on lunch, perhaps you would be so kind as to wipe off these boards before you leave," Ms. Woodruff said. "That is, if you have nothing better to do."

"I'm suddenly feeling very hungry," Pacey stated, unveiling a most charming smile.

"I thought so."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Revenge is sweet, ain't it?" he says, kissing my hand before moving up my arm to…oh! We have to stop doing this. Somebody's gonna need this projection room one day and I'll be sitting here…in his lap…both of us fully aroused and unable to do anything about it.

But I couldn't agree with him more. Loving is, in fact, the best revenge—

though I'm not sure how to tell him that. Okay, so I chickened out. I can't think when he's within five feet of me! Well, I can think but…

What if he doesn't feel the same way? That would be awkward, and then we'll both feel bad and—shazzam!—no more magic.

Dawson wants to get a group together to go to the County Fair after school's out. An all-night celebration approved by the parental units, providing we broadcast the all-clear as soon as we get back to the Leery homestead.

"I don't know, it could be fun."

"No, it won't be," I insist. "Dawson's up to something, I know it. He and Jen have been fighting a lot and now there's this new girl, Andie."

"Who's she?"

"You know, the McPhee girl. The one who crashed into Dougie's squad car last semester."

"Oh, yeah. The blonde with the Catholic school wardrobe."

"And, as we well know, Mr. Leery has a thing for blonde society girls."

"Not that you're biased or anything."

"I'm not!"

"Mmm hmm."

Okay. Now he's pissing me off. I really couldn't give a shiite about Dawson's late-night proclivities. Especially when I have better ones to consider.

"Do you really think…"

"Shut up," he says, pressing his lips to mine. And when our tongues start dancing again, I really don't care anymore.

Barnstable Fair, here we come!

**zzzzzzzzzz**

She scared me for a minute, but I think we're okay now. All ghosts locked safely away—even the annoying ghost of Leery Future.

I've been wanting to tell her something for awhile—quite awhile, actually—and I think that Fair may be the perfect place. In fact, I'm hoping for a special moment on the Ferris wheel, with all the colored lights blinking against the blackness of the bay. Just the two of us up there, alone.

I bought her a locket. It has her initials engraved on the front. I found it in this shop in Hyannis when I was running some errands for Pops, and I couldn't resist. I mean, it had her initials on it, JP, so it has to be like a sign, right?

I'm hoping she doesn't think it's too much.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Are you sure you don't want to go," Dawson said, glaring intensely at his about-to-be-ex girlfriend, Jen.

"Yes, Dawson, I'm sure. I swear if you make me go on that thing, I will puke. Why don't you take, Andie?" she said, pushing the perky blonde toward him. "I'm sure you'll have a much better time."

"Are you up for it?" Dawson winked at Andie. Joey caught a suspicious gleam in his eyes as he handed their tickets, accompanied by a $10 tip, to the carnie in charge of the Ferris wheel.

"Absolutely!" the newcomer to Leery social intrigue enthused.

"Okay…"

Joey and Pacey were next in line. Andie tugged on Pacey's arm. "Pacey?" He turned around. "Would you mind helping me with my sweater? It's getting a bit chilly."

"Sure," he said, casting a twinkling look back at Joey.

Before anyone knew what had happened, Dawson grabbed Joey's hand and sat down with her in the Ferris chair.

"Wait a minute!" Joey protested, as the carnie locked them in place.

"Hang on," the carnie said, seeming not to hear her. He grinned rather wickedly as he pulled the lever.

Pacey turned around to discover Joey gone. "Sonofabitch," he muttered as he spotted her, three cars above the ground with the most distressed look on her face. He got into the next chair with Andie jabbering away.

Joey looked behind her as the wheel rotated.

"I just wanted to talk, Jo," Dawson said. "I miss you."

"Yeah? I understand the sentiment, Dawson. But the methodology was _not_ appreciated."

"We never talk anymore," he whined.

"We talk all the time!" she countered.

"Yeah, in class. Or when Jen and I drop in at the Ice House. But we never have movie nights anymore."

"You told me I couldn't bring Pacey." Joey looked forward as her boyfriend's chair circled around.

"What would _you_ say if you found your two former best friends making out in your bed?"

"Uh, how about, I hope you're having a good time?"

Dawson stewed. "That's not funny," he spit out.

"You're right, Dawson. It's not funny, it's hysterical," she chided him. They spent the next revolution in silence, with Joey especially intent on keeping the physical distance between them. She jumped out of the chair as soon as the Ferris wheel stopped and her restraint was lifted.

"Can we just have a few minutes alone?" Dawson pleaded, his pathetic need unmasked further as he attempted to pull Joey toward the exit.

"No!" she yelled, steamed even more now that she saw Pacey's chair pass the unloading area for a second time. She shook herself free from his grip and glared at him, surprised to see uncharacteristic sweat glistening on his cheeks—or was it a choreographed tear? She didn't know and she didn't care.

Dawson admitted a temporary defeat and reluctantly nodded to the carnie, who let Pacey off on the next turn. Joey surrounded him with her trademark bear hug and Pacey smiled sheepishly; the third wheel winced.

"I wasn't gone that long, Jo," Pacey said as he hugged her in return.

"Long enough," she said. "Let's get outta here."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

She has tears in her eyes. I can't believe she has tears in her eyes. She puts her hands on mine, stopping me from hooking the necklace around that sexy, beauty-marked neck.

"Pacey, can you really afford this? I mean, it's gold, isn't it?"

"And totally appropriate for our four-month anniversary."

"I didn't get you anything."

"Yes, you did. That look on Dawson's face when you slapped him? Priceless."

"You heard what he said. Bastard. It did feel good, though," she says, unbuttoning my shirt.

"I bet it did. It felt…good, ah…just hearing you stand up for us."

"Us," she reiterates. "I like that."

"I do, too," I concur, unfastening her bra. She lifts up her arms and I remove her blouse as well. "You are so beautiful."

My lips track across her gently heaving chest, but she is impatient and pushes me back. Now her lips find their target. I've never had a woman suckle on _my_ nipple before. I groan and the wench giggles!

"That tickles," I laugh.

"How about this?" she asks as she rubs herself up and down my body. I can feel the cold metal of her locket. Her hands cover my mouth and I am lost as her silken hair trails down my chest until she comes in contact with…

Sweet bejesus. "Jo."

"Shh."

"Not in the back seat of the Wagoneer."

She mutters something as she unfastens my jeans. I wasn't sure at first, but when she takes me into her mouth and begins caressing me with her lips, the words echo back.

She said, "I love you."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I love it when he growls. It's so—primal.

Last night was incredible. I have to remember to thank Dawson for that. If I hadn't been so mad, I would never have had the courage to tell Pacey I loved him. I don't know if he heard me, but he certainly felt it!

And then we fell asleep, which was really cool. Just sleeping in his arms.

I'm glad he's decided to fix up that wreck of a boat because that means he won't be that far away during the summer. I promised to help him sanding and painting, he _swears_ he'll help clean up at the Ice House after hours…and we'll see where it goes from there.

Does it feel like this relationship is moving along too fast? I don't think it's moving too fast. I mean, we've known each other for years so there's none of that awkward getting-to-know-you waiting period. It's been over four months now and it feels like a year.

And every day I learn something new about him—which surprises me, but then when I think about it, maybe not. I just never expected him to be so sensitive…so innocent, vulnerable…so willing to please…and easy to please.

He makes me happy, and I really didn't think that was possible for a jaded old soul.

"You're not a cynic," he says. "You're just challenged by Pollyanna-ism."

"How do you even know who Pollyanna is?"

"Hello? Three sisters, the Disney channel and a certain predilection for all things Hayley Mills."

"In other words, a recipe for disaster in the Witter family home."

"I learn from women, what can I say?"

"You learn from fictional role models!"

"And your point is?"

"Never mind. So what are we doing on the Fourth?" I ask, changing the subject in a clever tactical move. If I do say so myself (and I just did).

"The Leery beach party is still on."

"Don't even go there. How can you be even the slightest bit optimistic about the chances of that turning out well?"

"Because the statistics on driving outside our familiar environ are even worse."

"Good point, but…"

"Listen, Jo," he says, tugging me back into his embrace. "We'll go, make the pre-requisite appearance, and then casually disappear." He brushes his lips against mind and I silently agree to drop the protest. "Besides," he adds, "I have other plans."

"And those would entail…" I ask, my voice a hopeless, ragged pant.

"You'll see."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"This was a good idea," Joey said conspiratorially, dodging the mini-sandstorm as a gaggle of kids with sparklers ran past them.

"Yeah. Uh, Dawson? We're gonna grab some more refreshments before the store closes."

"Okay," he said, turning his attention back to Andie.

"See ya," she said, waving her noisemaker.

"I think she's confusing the 4th of July with New Year's," Pacey laughed.

"Whatever," Joey retorted, dragging Pacey off the beach and back toward their boat. "Do you have refreshments on the boat?" she asked.

"Nothing that will quench my thirst better than you," he replied, leading her below deck.

"I like that idea!" she said, her exclamation broken by his mouth on hers and his tongue…everywhere. She reciprocated with eager lips, stopping only to take a breath before plunging in again.

"I have a surprise for you," he managed to blurt out between kisses. His left hand skated across her inner thigh while his right perused through her hair, keeping her mouth aligned with his.

"Oh," she said in her baby voice, the one that took over whenever she started to get aroused. She moved her hips, aligning them further with her hands on his tight buttocks, then pulled him in, sliding against him in a sensual rhythm that belied her inexperience.

"Jo, not so fast."

"Why not?"

"The night is still young," Pacey reasoned.

"So are we," she purred. She could feel his excitement. "Unless you want to go back…"

"No, no. Oh God, wait a minute." He made her look at him. "Let's take this nookie session somewhere else."

"Where?"

"That's the surprise. Grab those bags, will ya? I'll get the coolers."

"Coolers?"

"My Dawson contingency plan, " Pacey said as he climbed back up the stairs. "Just in case he comes looking for us, I'm leaving some sodas behind."

"So when he shows up…"

"He'll find nothing more suspicious than A&W and Canada Dry." He turned his attention to another shore. "See that dark house across the cove?"

"Yeah."

"I found out they're not renting it out for the summer. It needs repairs to the roof, the windows recaulked and part of the floor retiled."

"I don't suppose you know who's doing the repairs?"

"I might," he said, leaning down to her ear and whispering, "It's gonna be a _long_ summer."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"I officially declare this residence a Dawson-free zone!"

Joey laughed as they cuddled together on the deck to watch the fireworks. "You are such a nut!"

"Legally…fatally…irrepressibly. Do you like the way I set up the house?"

"Not crazy about the choo-choo curtains or the excess of Captain Crunch breakfast alternatives…but all in all I think you did a great job, Pace. You scored big."

"I sure did."

"Stop that!"

"What?"

"That self-effacing stuff."

"Can't help it."

"Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Pacey Witter," she said, grabbing his collar by both hands. "I scored big, too," she whispered.

And then they were kissing again. Within minutes, both voted for indoor fireworks over outdoor ones, happily crashing onto the mattress Pacey had made up with Pooh Bear linen. Joey hungrily tore off Pacey's shirt; he had less success with hers, fumbling over the buttons until Joey finally slipped it off.

Not waiting to undress further, she got on top, moving against him as the sensations overtook both their bodies. His hardening erection pressed into the seam of her shorts, heightening her pleasure as she glided her hips over his. Her face heated, her darkened eyes locked onto his. He moved provocatively against her in retaliation, grinding into her from beneath until he saw her eyes began to glaze. He brought nimble, pliant fingers to her crotch, slowly investigating her heat, watching which movements got a pleasurable response. She moved faster.

"Oh God, Pacey, take them off. Please take them off!" she entreated. He switched positions with her dutifully, slowly removing her denim shorts. She squirmed as she watched him looking admiringly at her pink lace underwear.

Pacey smiled, then hooked his fingers under the elastic band, looking back again. "Okay?" he asked. She nodded.

The loss of her panties was less tortuous than what happened next as he brought both fingers and lips to bear on a wildly throbbing clit, moving away just as she began to feel the heat spreading, varying the speed and pace, driving her beyond anywhere she had ever been before. Her legs tightening around him, her staccato breath simultaneously pleased and unsure, Pacey returned his lips to the sensitive nub, mercilessly sucking and suckling until he heard her scream his name and felt her spasm out of control. Around him, through him.

"Joey?" he said softly as he threw a sheet around them and drew her sated body back into his arms.

"Hmm?" she said weakly, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"Happy Fourth of July, sweetheart."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

He saw the silhouettes of two nude figures splashing in the surf, dimly illuminated by a half moon. Their laughing voices reverberated across the beach, the tenor undeniable.

It was Joey and Pacey, and someday he would make them pay.

**Next up: Veteran's Day**


	3. Veteran's Day

"**HAPPY VETERAN'S DAY"**

**ob·ses·sion **– _n._ idea or feeling that completely occupies the mind state of being obsessed by somebody or something uncontrollable persistence of an idea or emotion in the mind, sometimes associated with psychiatric disorder

**~*~**

He knew they did it, he could tell by the way they were playing around. His best friends had slept together and, what really pissed him off—they didn't even try to hide it. How could he be such a fool to think that it _still_ was supposed to be her and him?

"She promised me," he muttered under his breath. "She lied. She lied." To me, he told himself. Soulmates don't lie, they always tell the truth…they always _know_ the truth.

And now he knew.

"She lied!"

"What are you going on about?"

"Huh?" Dawson directed his attention to the giddy blonde sitting next to him on the bus. He had spent so much of his weekend obsessing about his friends' betrayal that he had no idea how much time had passed, let alone how he'd managed to pack his bags and get on the bus for Cine-Camp '99…with Andrea McPhee, of all people, messing with his hair.

"What are you doing? How did you get here?" he asked, incredulous. His edgy demeanor immediately attracted curious looks from fellow bus passengers.

"Well, duh, Mr. Leery. You asked me! You announced at the end of our 4th of July party that you would be needing a new Gal Friday."

"I did not!"

"Dawson, Jen had barely raised my hand and you, like some wide-eyed Howdy Dowdy on Super Glue fumes, grabbed my arm and dragged me to your 'film vault' to show off your collection. You 'splained very carefully how you like everything organized, I gave you a quick salute and then you…you…" Suddenly, Andie got very embarrassed, recalling how drunk and out of their minds both of them had been.

"What!?" Dawson spat back, impatiently. The haze had worn off but he was as clueless as ever.

"Oh, well, never mind." She quickly changed subjects. "I think this film camp is going to be a lot of fun. I can't believe that Quentin Tarantino is actually going to be there."

"He is?"

"You told me he was."

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

"You've been forgetting a lot of things lately, Mr. Leery."

"Don't call me that."

"Yes, sir!" Andie laughed. "What is it, by the way?"

"What?" Now Dawson was really irritated. This girl was incapable of staying on-subject.

"Pacey's big surprise."

"Pacey's…" Surprise? What? Now, wait a minute: maybe he could use this get-away to his advantage. Getting even with that traitor Witter would be the best revenge of all. Then maybe Joey would see the error of her ways and beg forgiveness. Not beg, grovel—that would be nice. No, scratch that. She must be contrite but not broken. She just needed to be reminded of her place.

With him.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"I swear, Jo, he didn't say a word," Jen insists. "He went out for those beverages you guys seemed to have forgotten to bring back and returned with several six-packs of beer instead, mumbling something about moonlight shimmering on the water…"

Oh shit.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Did you say something?'

"No. Continue."

"Oh, well. Then he morphed into a manic, slightly drunk Andy Hardy, talking about this great film spectacular he was going to make this summer and wouldn't it be fun? He wanted me to produce…"

He saw.

"Don't give me that look, I said no. Told him I made a poor Girl Friday. I probably shouldn't have, but I volunteered Andie; she's still new and likes a challenge. The next thing I knew, he and Andie McPhee were stumbling towards his house. A few minutes later, her brother Jack showed up and then I…"

Why is she blushing? Do I look funny…or different?

"Joey, I think I'm in lust!"

I almost spit out my Tejava. "With who?!"

"Jack McPhee. He is majorly cute. Seriously. He ended up walking me home…"

"Yeah?"

"We were talking about art and stuff…and…when his hand brushed against mine, I thought I would totally lose it. I mean, I just met the guy, but sparks were flying all over the place."

I know the feeling. Still I can't resist giving Jen a hard time. "Are you sure it wasn't the bonfire?"

"Ha ha. Very funny. Anyway, he said something about Pacey being a good pal and I was wondering if we could kinda…well, I mean unofficially of course…but if we went out as a group we could, you know…um… double date?"

Actually, I was looking forward to a little backseat action myself. Alone. But I have to confess that—I mean, not that I'd admit it to Jen Lindley or anything, but she _has_ been much easier to be around since we both dumped Mr. Creek Dazed & Confused. I've never had a girl friend before, and she knows a lot more about, um, worldly things than I do. But double date? How does _that_ work out? Hmmm…

"I guess so. Why not?"

"Yay! Thanks, Jo."

"We don't have to share hair-styling tips, do we?"

"No, we don't have to share hair-styling tips. But maybe you could tell me the name of that perfume you wear. I know it drives that boy of yours crazy."

Now it's my turn to blush. I can't help but think how Pacey likes to lean in and catch a waft as he nuzzles my neck and ear. I love it when he does that. After skinny-dipping the other night, we cuddled up under the covers and he nestled right there…

"Joey?"

But we haven't been able to steal another romantic interlude together since. This double date thing may not be such a bad idea—I may even confide just a little bit with Jen…later. Definitely later.

"I'm going to talk to Pacey about inviting Jack," I say as I make a hasty exit. Suddenly, I have this need to be near him. Now.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Hey! Hold it, Jo! I'm trying to finish painting the bow."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to go against the grain?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she says oh-so-innocently, rubbing against me and whispering into my ear. "I meant me."

Okay. My hairs are standing on end—not a bad feeling, in fact, but I am determined to hold my ground. Two can play at this game. So I turn around and ever-so-playfully put a dab of blue marine paint on that cute little nose. "Grab a brush and let's finish this."

She wrinkles her nose and looks around rather mischievously. "Uh uh uh! Brushes, Jo."

"I am so going to waste you when we're done," she charges.

"Promise?" I retort.

"Oh, yeah. That's a promise, Pace."

An hour later, we've finished for the day and I start envisioning what my girl will look like in the open water.

"We should do a christening," my real-life girl chimes in.

"Yeah, that would be great," I say dreamily.

Joey laughs. "Come on, sailor, let's clean up. We've got some stuff to talk about."

I surround her from behind. "What stuff?" I ask, kissing her neck.

"Important relationship stuff like…aah…"

Nuzzling her swan-like neck has had an obvious effect on her breasts and I can't resist teasing her. Needless to say, a perky Potter definitely has an effect on my manhood.

"You were saying?

"I was saying…" She punctuates an incomplete sentence with a sexy mewl. I love it when she does that. We could so easily veer into uncharted territory right here and now. But then rational Joey takes over. "Get your shoes, we're getting out of here."

"I love it when you're bossy."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Yes, sir!" I laugh, taking her hand. And then _she_ shuts up. It's still amazing to me that we have that kind of affect on each other. I hope it never goes away.

I want to tell her how much she means to me…but I can never seem to find the words. I mean, maybe we shouldn't be thinking like this; we're just 16. And yet I can't imagine the rest of my teen life—let alone an adult one—without her. She makes me laugh and she keeps me on my toes and…

"Earth to Witter, hello!"

"Huh?"

"Did you hear anything I said?"

"Of course I did."

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Jack and Jen, and about us."

"Us is a done deal—now what about Jack and Jen?"

"You are so thick sometimes!"

"Okay, I admit it. I was asleep at the wheel; I was on sensory overload and wasn't paying attention. How does Jen know Jack?"

She smiles and kisses my cheek. I could so take her right now…but I don't. "How do _you_ know Jack?" she queries. "Jen says she met him on the 4th and that he knows you."

"Sort of. He's been hanging out a lot at the marina in the mornings, trying to get odd jobs on fishing boats going out."

"Why? I thought the McPhees had money."

"Avoiding home, I guess. He's been having a rough time. The parents are divorcing. He says he was happy when they moved here because he thought he'd escaped the pretty boy taunts of his last two schools. But apparently McPhee Sr. is the worst offender of them all."

"Pacey. Is Jack gay?"

"No, of course not!" How did our conversation veer into this territory anyway?

"I didn't mean…"

"Sorry, Jo," I apologize, quickly taking her into my arms. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just felt for the guy when he told me his story and…"

"And?" She avoids a repentant kiss.

I clear my throat and try again. "Can we turn the conversation back to me for the moment? I'm feeling out of my element here."

"Aww, Pace," she says, turning her reprimand into a much more pleasant nuzzle. "How 'bout we go inside now?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply obediently, opening the door of Chez Witter. Our regrettably soon-to-be former summer refuge looks nearly ready to move in now.

"And you'll take care of inviting Jack?"

"To?"

"Whatever you guys want to do. You know, a double date."

"A double date, eh?" I joke, leading her into the nicely renovated kitchen. She stops to admire it and I nibble on her ear, growling "Twice as much fun" before I suckle on her most accommodating neck. I can't help chuckling as she falls against the half-opened refrigerator door.

"Definitely," she whispers breathlessly.

What time did she say she had to be back at work?

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"For real? She wants to go out on a date?" Jack says, clearly excited as he absent-mindedly flips his dad's credit card around his knuckles like some Vegas high-roller.

"What do you think?"

"Well, yeah. I'm in—what do you think I am, crazy? She's super hot."

"The thing is…I want to make this something special for Joey, too. What do you think of going into Boston?" I inquire. Jack pauses for a moment, still playing with that card. "I know it's asking a lot but…"

"Dinner and dancing at the Avalon?"

"Can we afford it?"

Jack peers again at the American Express card he has in hand, the new gold letters spelling out his name obviously providing some answer. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, we can afford it…and then some."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

_You only see what your eyes want to see_

_How can life be what you want it to be_

_You're frozen when your heart's not open_

Bessie answered the phone.

She said she hardly ever spends time at home these days.

Poor Jo. She works too much.

_If I could melt your heart_

_We'd never be apart_

_Give yourself to me_

_You are the key_

I'm not angry anymore.

I could help her, if she let me—all she has to do is ask.

Ask me, Jo.

_Now there's no point in placing the blame_

_And you should know I'd suffer the same_

_If I lose you, my heart would be broken_

_You're frozen when your heart's not open_

Open your heart.

I will always be here for you, Jo.

Just like before—just like it was, and should be.

If only…

_If I could melt your heart_

_We'd never be apart_

_Give yourself to me_

Just…give yourself to me.

I'm right here.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Jen's laughing in the back seat. Laughing and singing. I've never seen her like this, so free and open. And who would guess that guy Jack was such a cut-up? He always seemed so straight-laced. I was going to say looney 'cuz…well, who lets a maniac like Pacey drive their dad's BMW? But I see now why he did: they get to snuggle while Mr. Witter and I have a gear shift between us. Not nice.

The enforced distance, as small as it is, gets me to thinking about things I've been avoiding lately. Like the times I've told Pacey I loved him, and he's never said it back. Did I make a mistake saying it first? I thought he felt the same way. I mean, I'm pretty sure he does. His actions would certainly seem to say so. But then I get insecure. Is this about sex? We haven't gone all the way or anything…yet…but still we've done a lot. And…

Pacey puts his hand on top of mine and gives me a look. The one with a glint in his eyes and a warm smile; he looks so sexy—and that's it, my insides melt. I can't be mad at him. I'm not mad at him. I thread his fingers in mine and smile back.

"How much further, Pace?"

"Half an hour. I thought we'd check into the hotel first. You girls can freshen up and then we're off for a spectacular night on the town."

"Spectacular, eh?"

"You're going to love this club, Joey," Jack offers from his backseat perch. "It's THE happening, the hottest place in town." Then he winks. "Next to Miss Lindley, of course."

"Stop!" she giggles. She is so far gone. I think we'll need to have that talk soon. Ahem. Just to get the rules straight on this overnight stay.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I definitely like the slow dancing best. The Salsa is kind of fun—and damn sexy, but there's nothing that beats a slow dance when you have a Joey Potter nuzzling you. She pulls herself flush against my body, leaving nothing—no, strike that—_everything_ to my imagination.

"Let's go back to the hotel," she whispers in my ear.

"I was just thinking the same thing," I practically growl back, feeling like the hottest stud in town as she leads me off the dance floor. I caught those looks from that trio at the bar. They've been watching her all night, but she's _my girl_, see? I know I'm grinning like a fool, but I can't help it. I'm a fool in love.

…and in lust. "Jack, we're going to get a cab back to the hotel," I say, handing him his car keys.

"No, wait," he responds instantly, looking at Jen. "We're ready to go, too. Right, Jen?"

"Yeah," she says a bit hesitantly. "I guess so."

Nuts. Scratch off that horndog time alone. Because we made an agreement with the parents: boys room, girls room. Joey gives me a rather pathetic look as I wrap her coat around her.

"Fine, let's go," I retort. "You drive." At least we'll get some backseat time!

Fifteen minutes later, both Jack and Jen are peering intently at us from their bucket seats. "We're here, guys," they say for the 19th time. I wave them off. Go already.

"Okay, we're going in now," Jack intones with impeccable diction. Small words, just in case the larger ones are lost on us. "I guess you know how to lock up." Smart guy. Glad he can take a hint…or 18.

"Think they'll be okay?" I hear Jen say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack take her hand. "Oh yeah. They have at least five hours of oxygen before they even need to open a window."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Both of us are absolutely silent as we walk into the hotel. Peaceful, really. Blissful.

But I didn't tell him I loved him this time. I tried to show him, in the same way I think he's showing me. But I never said…it. And that's okay for now—because I really do. Love him, I mean. Sometimes it's just nice holding his hand.

Oh, God. Are all teenage girls this impossibly sappy? You would think someone hit the girl formerly known as snarky Joey Potter in the head or something.

No, he hit me in the heart.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"The door's locked."

"What?"

"The door to your room—the one you're supposed to share with Ms. Lindley—is locked." We hear a very masculine moan and the sound of something—a lamp?—crashing against the wall.

"Oh my God. Are they…"

"Doing it? They're certainly doing something," I chuckle. Then Joey looks at me with those doe eyes and I'm locked in her gaze. "Let's go to bed," I say, pulling her in close to deposit a kiss on her cheek.

"Pacey, I…"

She's nervous now. I didn't mean to do that. "To sleep, Jo. I meant to sleep." I unlock the room next door, a bachelor's room with two shaving kits and a great view.

"We could watch TV," she suggests, walking in.

"Okay," I concede.

She turns on the television and hands me the remote. "Your call."

After hanging up our coats, we both settle down on the bed, rumpled clothes and all. Joey scoots down to lean her head against my chest and I stop thinking about what's on TV.

Why is this so easy, so comfortable, so…old? I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just funny to me that we're both 16 and it feels like we're an old couple. I can imagine us my grandpa's age, still relaxing like this…the familiar routine to end our day. Is that normal? Is this true love or am I being totally delusional? I mean Dawson Leery-time.

Eww…

Then I look down at that face. Her eyes are closed now and there's the hint of a smile on those perfect lips. I lose track of time as I watch her in the flickering blue light. I'm not tired. "Jo?" I inquire softly as I gently brush my fingers along the small of her back.

"Hmm," she responds, seemingly from a deep slumber.

"I love you."

That was easier to say than I thought it would be.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"You didn't!"

"Jo, I swear it's the truth. Jack was a total gentleman, walking me to the door and giving me a tentative, very proper goodnight kiss."

Jen's not getting off that easy. "So what happened?" I prod her further.

"Well, one kiss lead to another, and then another, and another. The next thing I know, these women are walking by and telling us to get a room. Chivalrous Jack turns to them and says, 'We did," and we both laugh. Then I opened the door and…"

"You stopped laughing."

"It got serious. Real serious. I blame it on you, actually."

"Me?" I stammer, more than a little dumbfounded.

"The way that you and Pacey are with each other, the way you were touching each other in the car…"

Okay, now I'm blushing.

"No, I don't mean groping. Just how…I don't know, sensual you guys are. You purr, he growls. It's very passionate…and sexy." I can't hold a smile back, even as my cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. "It was a real turn-on. How do you expect us to go back to our rooms and not want to…"

"Jump each other?"

"No!"

"Jen, Pacey and I could hear it through the door."

"Okay, so there was some major action going on. It was a helluva make-out session."

"Yeah, I can tell by the bruised lip and the beard burn." Such tell-tale signs are especially visible in the glare of the morning sun.

Jen touches her swollen lower lip. "But it didn't go any further. And, missy, when we opened the door between suites it was Mr. & Mrs. Witter who were down to boxers and a slip!"

"I don't remember undressing," I mumble, fiddling absent-mindedly with the handle of the passenger door.

"I'm sure Pacey took care of that!" she exclaims. "What were we, lost in the moment of ecstasy?"

"Jen! We are not sleeping together!"

"You most certainly were!"

"Well," I gulp, "technically, yes. But we're not having sex." Jen raises her eyebrow. "Okay. Not that _kind _of sex, we haven't sealed the deal."

"Which begs the obvious question: what's stopping you?"

I have no explanation and simply shrug my shoulders. "Abstinence makes the heart grown fonder?"

Jen groans. "Jo, that boy loves you."

"But he never says it." Now she's pushed my insecurity button, and thoughts I don't want to have come flooding back.

"Do you really have any doubt?" she asks, sensing my change in mood.

"No." Not really.

"Then what?"

"I'm scared. I don't want to screw it up. I'm afraid I'll do something wrong."

"Jo…"

"And, of course, there's the perfect argument for birth control right there in my very own home." I love Alex, I do. But even Bessie thinks she began having kids too young.

"I think what you need is a visit to the Free Clinic," Jen continues.

"What?"

"When you and I get back to Capeside, we are going to the Free Clinic. I think if you were more prepared, it wouldn't feel so scary. No rush, no peer pressure. But you'll know what your options are, and Jo?"

"Yeah?"

Jen hugs me—nothing weird, just a friendly hug. Sincere. "You'll do it when it feels right," she says. "In the meantime, I think you need to tell Pacey what you're feeling."

"You guys ready to go?" Jack pipes in as he gets back into the car.

"Oh yeah," Jen smiles.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

The figure clad in black didn't bother to knock on the door, sneaking through the sleeping porch into the freshly-painted cottage he knew Pacey Witter used for his love trysts. That slimeball. He would show him. He was hoping to find incriminating evidence—a picture, something—but the place was Spic & Span clean. Just a mattress leaning against the garage with everything else that might indicate residence seemingly spirited away.

**Where was it!!!** Where had they gone? The determined intruder was about to give up when he glimpsed the makings of "something" under the makeshift table: a folded piece of paper in a girl's smiling faces, happy hearts handwriting.

_Dear Pacey _——

_I've never written anything like this before. It seems so silly_—_—you're making me act silly, you lughead! :-p _

_But last night was fantastic and I wanted to let you know that I will never forget it._

_Wow, when you say fireworks, you really mean it!_

_*heart*_

_Joey_

That sonofabitch. Now he was going to puke. All kinds of unwanted and grotesque images were dancing in his brain, and he had the slacker Witter to thank for it. He must free his soulmate from this supernatural hold Pacey had on her. **For. her. own. good.**

**zzzzzzzzzz**

We heard Dawson was back in town. I guess that makes sense since school started last week. Geez, how time flies! It seems like just yesterday that we were celebrating the 4th. Good times.

Jen ran into Andie at the McPhee homestead and got the full rundown on Dawson & Andie's exciting summer adventures. How they were nearly kicked out of Cine-Camp for filming Dawson's version of cinéma vérité. Then, later, winning an award for Best Comedy at the CineFest—though Dawson complained bitterly that his shadow puppet film about a cat name Mendacity wasn't meant to be funny.

"What do you think is going on with him?" Jen asks, concerned. She's more worried about her ex than I am, actually.

"Obsessive Reality Disorder," I reply with a noticeable smirk. Reflex action duly noted.

"Qué?"

"It's a psychiatric condition. Look it up in the shrink book."

"Andie said he told her he needed to disassociate. What does that mean?"

"I don't know. It sounds like the same old drama to me," I reply. 'Soulmate interruptus' has a nice ring to it, don't you think? But then I reconsider my cynicism and add a dash of compassion. "Look, the guy has spent most of his life placated by his parents with practically anything he wanted or needed—except their love."

"You don't mean that."

"I do. Mitch and Gale are so wrapped up in each other, they barely say boo to him. He's an only child whose strongest defense has been to create this fantasy world…"

"Populated by you and Pacey."

"And you," I insist. "As much as I despised it at the time, the blonde damsel in distress was a necessary addition to Dawson's imaginary scenario. Except, to him, it wasn't make-believe. Not anymore."

"Oh God, now I feel bad."

"Damn. You're right," I agree. It doesn't seem fair to stay mad at the guy forever. His story-telling adventures got Pacey and me through a lot of rough times. Just then I have a lightbulb moment. "Maybe it's time to resurrect movie night. If we make it a group thing, maybe he'll let me bring Pacey."

"…and me, Jack."

"And he likes Andie. We'll ask her."

"Perfect confirmation that we've all moved on," Jen declares.

I certainly hope so.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

_The falsetto voice continued to taunt him in its strange sing-song fashion: _

"_Burn it all down to the ground. _

_Burn it down. Yeah, yeah. _

_Burn it all down to the ground."_

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Fire! Down at Bayfront Properties!"

"Bayfront?" Without thinking, I hitch a ride with the boys, sirens blaring as we blast through town. Bayfront is where Chez Witter is, and as we turn the corner I can't believe how close this fire is to that home-away-from-home I worked on all summer. In fact… Shit. It IS Chez Witter that is on fire—and close to taking another home with it.

I hit the pavement running, hoping there is something I can do to help, but the porch collapses just as the fire hoses focus their aim and it's obvious that it's already hopeless. I'm sick in the gut.

"Pacey? What are you doing here?"

"Dougie. Nothing, I guess."

"Do yourself a favor and get out of here before Dad sees you."

"What? Why?"

"Someone saw the Wagoneer tear out of here an hour ago and it looks like arson. You may be a suspect. You do not want to be seen here."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Go!"

The next day at school, the fire is all anyone can talk about. There are rumors that a drug ring was using the house as a safe haven…another that it was a meth house…a bordello… an over-insured stockbroker's dream gone sour…or some budding young pyromaniac's first test.

Joey pulls me into the projection booth before 2nd period. She sits down, facing me, tenderly brushing my cheek with one hand while the other hand holds mine firmly, her thumb rubbing my palm.

"I'm sorry, Pace. Were you able to save anything?" she asks.

"Jack and I managed to move everything out before Boston. But it was too late anyway. That was no accident, Jo. I'm just afraid…"

A voice booms from the school PA. "Pacey Witter, please report to the principal's office. Pacey Witter, please report to the principal's office. Immediately."

"This can't be good," I grumble.

Joey looks puzzled. "What's happening? I don't understand."

"I'll take care of it, Jo," I try my best to reassure her, even though I don't quite believe it myself. We stand together and I take her into my arms, brushing my lips softly against hers. "Auf wiedersehen, fraulein. I'll catch you at lunch."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Pacey didn't show in the cafeteria so I've gone straight to his locker, only to find the school cops rummaging through it. You would think it was a gym locker with all the clothes in it—and a decided lack of books. But I'm more curious about what one of the geek patrol is holding in a ziplock bag. It looks like a burnt scrap of paper. I squint to focus on it more closely. It's…My eyes open wide. It's my note! How did…

I don't understand.

"Joey? Are you okay?" Jack asks, putting his arm around my shoulder.

"No," I reply, moving away quickly. I need to find some answers. "I'm sorry, Jack, I have to go."

I head towards the office, but stop dead in my tracks—again—as I pass the main entrance of school. Pacey's in the back of his brother Doug's squad car, looking straight ahead as Doug talks to another officer. My heart sinks as I notice that his hands are behind his back: he's in handcuffs!

"This is ridiculous," I say out loud to no one in particular, and I start marching toward the door. Another hand holds me back.

"Miss Potter, may we have a word with you?" the vice-principal says.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

What's happening around here? How could they even _think_ that Pacey anything to do with that fire? They said they have evidence, but they wouldn't even listen when I tried to explain he was with me last night. They accused me of lying as well—as well? Does that mean that Pacey told them exactly what I said, and I corroborated his story without being aware of it, and _we're_ the ones not telling the truth?

"Joey, hi."

"Oh. Hi, Dawson. I…"

"What's wrong?"

The flood of tears begins. "I can't talk right now," I sob, intent on retreating from these halls. Suddenly, I feel so helpless and the only thing that makes sense is to run out the door. I have to see Pacey and let them know. We were working on the boat! Okay, so we were making out—big diff. Why didn't they believe me? Why…

I slow down.

Oh, that's right. I'm the girl from the other side of the creek…the convict's daughter. They won't believe him because of _me._

But they have to, I need to make them see. The truth always prevails, right? Right. My feet become heavy as this overwhelming sense of doom envelops me. The last time I was at the Capeside police station was to visit my dad before they took him to prison.

Déjà vu all over again.

"I'm here to see Pacey Witter," I announce to the uniformed clerk at the front desk.

"And you are?"

"Joey Potter."

"I'm afraid he can't see anyone, Miss Potter. He's being processed right now. That will take some time." The clerk studies me for a moment. "And you're a minor, you can't see him without an adult present."

"You can't be serious. Please? Just one minute? I just want him to know I'm here for him."

"We'll tell him you were here."

Yeah, sure. Now who's lying? I can't hold back the tears that start to flow again. "But I want him to _see_ me," I whimper pathetically.

No hope is offered, but I refuse to leave. I decide to sit down on the bench and wait. This would be an opportune time for someone, anyone to reassure me that everything is going to be fine—like my mom used to do. Like Bessie and Dawson have tried, to varying degrees of success. Like Pacey does, expertly.

Great, more tears.

"Joey?"

"Dougie?" That's Pacey's pet name for his older brother. I'm usually not so familiar with him, but it's nice to see a friendly face. Doug sits down with me on the bench.

"Pacey's okay," he says before the obvious question is asked. "He's in a lot of trouble, Joey."

"I know," I answer back, "but I don't understand how—or why."

"Look, I can't really discuss the case," he says, then in a soft voice, "now." Before I ask the next question, he speaks a bit louder, "I'll check in with you and Bess later."

That glimmer of hope is enough for me to retreat home and await the news. I'm exhausted. I wonder what Pacey's feeling right now.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

This sucks. Most parents—that is, most parents—would have lawyers rushing to the courthouse by now on a mission to shield their minor-age child from the cruelties of incarceration…not to mention protect said minor's rights during police interrogation.

But not Sheriff Witter's son, no mercy no way. Guilty until proven innocent is my father's heartwarming motto. His sentence: Let the loser stew in the clink! "Welcome to your new bedroom," he told me. I'll give 'em credit for one thing, though: the food here is better than the elephant scab cuisine made famous at Capeside High (not to mention the lesser-known, but equally indigestible chipped beef on toast menu at my former abode).

Officially, there are no charges. I'm on a 72-hour hold, Doug finally told me…and that's about it. Yep. That's all I know. In fact, I think that brown rat scampering between cells knows more about my case than I do right now. Does it reek of self-pity to note, for the record, that it's difficult to defend yourself when you don't know what you're being accused of? Or why everyone's so convinced it's you? Even your own father.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Bessie had spoken with Jen, Jack and Dawson before I even got home. I was a wreck and not exactly fit for work so she had Jack take my shift at The Ice House; Bodi would close. Jen left a message to call her when I was in the mood to talk, but Bessie says she had to practically threaten to get a restraining order to get Dawson to agree to stay on his side of town. She knew.

She places a cup of coffee in front of me and I absent-mindedly put 3 teaspoons of sugar in it…like Pacey does. "I thought you drank it black," she smiles.

"I do," I say, realizing my mistake but not caring because it makes me feel better to recognize that I know that about Pacey. I keep stirring.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"No, thanks." I look up at my big sister—once my enemy, now a loving friend and confidante, when I allow her to be. "Thanks, Bessie. I…"

There's a knock at the door. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it's Doug that Bessie is letting in.

"Coffee?" she offers.

"Thanks, Bess," he says, sitting down at the kitchen table.

I can't bear the niceties. "Why, Doug, why?" I blurt out.

"The fire at Bayfront Properties was deliberately set. That much we knew right away," he explains. "It started with a mattress that had some kind of accelerant poured on it. Everyone knew…that is, most of the people at the station knew that my little brother had been staying there this summer—hiding out from the big bad sheriff."

He wasn't the only one we were hiding out from.

"Then there was a report of a car matching the Wagoneer's description pealing out of the neighborhood just before the fire was discovered."

"Doug, Pacey had the Wagoneer…"

"I know."

"But he was with me! We were down at the marina. I left him just before the fire station alarm started ringing. It couldn't have been…"

Doug interrupts my rather futile protest. "To top it all off, he had the misfortune of conveniently showing up at the fire scene. Not a good thing when you're a suspect."

"What did they find in his locker?"

"A charred note and a receipt from Chatham Supply for two chemicals known to be unstable and combustible. "

"A receipt? Have you ever known Pacey to keep a receipt?" I ask, incredulous that anyone would accept that discovery at face value.

"No, of course not," Doug states, chuckling slightly.

"And those items better have something to do with that boat because I can't remember the last time he bought anything that didn't have something to do with the _True Love._"

"Or you," Bessie chimes in, and I shoot her a look. Doug catches it.

"Pop was wondering where he got the money to go to Boston," he says, reluctantly.

"He earned it! And Jack had a credit card! Is anyone in his family on his side?"

"I am. Look, Joey, I don't know what's going on, but you can rest assured that I am looking into it as well. Now both of you get your coats. We're going to the station."

"What for?" Bessie asks foolishly.

"Pacey wants to see Joey and you need to be there."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Pacey, don't you dare say you're sorry," she pleads with quiet determination. "This isn't your fault."

"I didn't want you to be dragged into this," I say softly. My voice, full of halting regret, mirrors her sad eyes, and I look away in shame.

She turns my face back toward her, compelling me to look into her eyes. The intensity of her sincerity is nearly blinding. "You're in it, I'm in it," she says, and I am absolutely sure that she means every word.

Now there are tears in _my_ eyes. "I love you," I tell her—and I mean it.

"Way to woo a girl, Witter. Midnight confessions at the Capeside County Jail," she ribs me, smiling. God, I can't get enough of that lopsided smile! "I love you, too," she says. Suddenly, I feel a flicker of hope being reborn.

There's a knock at the door. Doug sticks his head in. "We have ten minutes until lockdown," he warns us.

"Thanks, Dougie." The door closes and I take my girl's hand. "I'm in the dark here, Jo. What can you tell me about what's going on? I know about the call reporting my car nearby…"

"It was a call?" she queries. "I thought one of the neighbors had reported it."

"Interesting. That probably means it was anonymous and…"

"They don't have a name!" she says, the incongruity of this trivial bit of information hitting both of us right away.

"But this _someone_ wanted them to know before the fire was even out," I ponder.

"_Someone_ doused the mattress with something to get the fire going," Jo adds.

"The mattress? The old mattress we took outside for pickup?" That's zinger #2.

"So someone brought it back in and…"

Our _Law & Order_ conversation is interrupted by another abrupt knock at the door. "Time," Dougie says. Joey wraps herself in my arms.

"I don't want to go," she says, holding on tight.

"I'll call you as soon as I can," I respond, hoping to reassure her. But then Doug clicks the handcuffs back on and she starts tearing up. I know he's a stickler for procedure, but I wish he had waited until she left the room.

"See ya later," she whispers, kissing my cheek. She puts on a brave face to match mine.

"Later, Jo," I call after her as she exits.

Back in my cell, I can't stop the wheels from turning in my head. Okay, so the charges are definitely arson-related. But something tells me the authorities suspect this goes much deeper, some kind of conspiracy, or they would have charged me already. That brings us to the most relevant question of the day: How do you prove a negative? How do I prove I _didn't_ do it when I don't know exactly what "it" is?

**zzzzzzzzzz**

She didn't say a word the entire drive home, getting out of the beat-up family pickup and somberly walking back into the house. She didn't bother with turning on lights, leaving her sister to struggle alone.

"Night, Jo," Bessie said as she carried her sleepy toddler to his crib. She wondered if her sister even heard her before closing the door to her room.

A few minutes later, Joey came back out, leaving the door to her still darkened bedroom open. She has never even bothered to turn on the lights, moving quietly down the hall and disappearing into the communal bathroom. The shower creaked to life.

Bessie gathered up some fresh towels; she had forgotten to replace those she had thrown into the wash earlier in the day. Approaching the bath, she was about to knock on the door, then reconsidered, hearing the unbroken streams of water pounding on the porcelain tub and, reverberating beneath it, the distinct sound of Joey sobbing.

The next morning, she was not surprised to see neither Joey's bed slept in nor her little sister gone.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I couldn't sleep. That stupid phone call has really been bugging me. Why would someone bother to make such a call so early on? Did anyone else in the neighborhood verify that they had also seen a car? I went to ask Doug about it, but I obviously woke him up.

"Joey, it's 6 o'clock in the morning. What are you doing here?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dougie. I just…Can we talk? Can I make you some coffee?"

"Sure," he says, motioning me into his apartment. I suppose I shouldn't tell him I know where everything is, so I pretend to look for the coffee and cups.

I get straight to the point. "Is there a recording of the call reporting Pacey's car on the scene?" I ask.

"This is a small town, Joey. Do you think this hamlet has the budget for a sophisticated 911 system?"

"Well, then who took the call? Is there a written record of it? What exactly was said?" I turn on the coffeemaker and let it brew while I brood.

Doug holds up his right hand, indicating that I should wait for a minute while he retreats into his bedroom. Soon, I hear him on the phone—but it's a very non-descript, one-sided conversation.

"Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh," he says. "Thank you, Nelson."

The toaster pops up and I wonder if he likes butter or jam.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

_Call Log - 11.01.98 - 22:59_

_Unidentified male caller reports Jeep Wagoneer circa 1987 speeding from scene of fire prior to Dept 56 arrival. Dark blue w/wood siding and broken antenna._

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Doug dropped me off at school on his way to work. As soon as he turned the corner, however, I did an about-face and headed toward the marina. I need to think. I look again at the piece of paper he handed me. He's got nice handwriting. But this is no time to rhapsodize about the loops of his G's and L's—I need to concentrate on the facts, and the fact is there is little doubt this description is meant to place Pacey and his car at the cottage when the fire started.

Why? Why him?

I walk along the beach towards Chez Witter. I can see what remains of its blackened frame from here…and something about it appears like what I feel inside. All hollowed out. Getting closer, I can see the yellow police tape outlining what remains of the structure. Closer still, a few seagulls hunting for food scramble in opposite directions as I approach. Watching them fly away, I notice a sand bar coming off the point that I've never paid attention to before. I guess I've never been here at low tide.

Off to the right, on the other side of the street from the beachfront, there is a small nest of spruce and hickory trees. Closer still, I can see one hickory struggling to retain its last leaves; a newly broken branch swings in the morning breeze. I stare at it for a bit, then turn around—only to find myself looking straight back at the house. I sit down in the long grass, wistfully recalling the days and nights Pacey & I spent there over the summer. I lean back and my hand nearly crushes something in the soft earth: a toy compass. I brush it off and put it in my pocket.

I'm not going back to school. I'm tired and broken and just want to see Pacey again. Beech Way deadends here and I decide to use it as a shortcut back to…

The pay phone! That one-story Bayfront Realty building has a pay phone in the corner of the lot. I want to call Dougie and tell him, but then question what he could possibly do with that information. Take fingerprints? Check it against a database of all known criminals? Or arsonists?

I wish he could.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Pacey Witter!" a disembodied voice harkens from down the hall.

That would be me—in cell block 3, I think to myself. I feel groggy. I was finally getting some shut-eye in this lights-on-all-night environment.

"You have a call," the officer says sternly as he opens to door to my cage. I follow him to the pay phone.

Joey sounds excited. "Jo, Jo. Slow down. I don't understand what you're saying." She's talking gibberish about late night phone calls and colors that are indistinguishable in the dark. Frankly, the more she says, the more I think this hole I'm in has been dug pretty deep—and the more I can see how it's affecting _her_. Once again, I try to apologize to her, but she cuts me off.

"Pacey, I love you and I believe in you. I know we started off kinda weird, but I realized after that Valentine's dance that I had just about everything I'd ever dreamt of right in front of me. You. Pacey Witter, you are the most extraordinary, talented person that I've ever known…and I am so proud to be with you."

"Proud, huh?

"Yes, Pace, proud. And I'm your biggest fan."

There was a time when I thought such Potter sentiments were reserved exclusively for Dawson Leery. But her sheer intensity and devotion is overwhelming. I must acknowledge how much Joey and I have grown together this last year. We're a real team now, a part of each other—and that heartrending revelation leaves me damn near speechless.

If not for the fact of being in jail—an undeniable reality—I would sweep that girl into a kiss that would cue our happy ending music.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I can't sleep and I can't sit still. I haven't seen Pacey for _two whole days!_ First, I had make-up shifts at the Ice House to contend with—though Bessie promised to take me yesterday. After she left for work, I snuck back into the house because I wanted to do some internet research. I couldn't find anything, at least anything that could help, and that was depressing. I felt so lost, so completely useless to Pacey…anyone.

They stopped putting my calls through. I know I need to be strong, but the only thing that's been keeping me together is the prospect of seeing his face again.

And then it rained…and then the truck broke down. I nearly whacked it with a tire iron in frustration. Bessie tried to laugh it off, but I could see that I scared her. I ran to get Bodi, and by the time everything was up and running it was too late to go to the police station.

I didn't cry.

I didn't say anything.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Bessie had to admit that her little sister was starting to worry her. Her mood swings were as intense as they were absolute, and unpredictable. As a child, Joey had barely shed a tear at her own mother's funeral, keeping her devastation so deep inside that no one—neither family nor friends—had been able to penetrate it. Now, however, she seemed completely unchecked, not caring who bore witness to her outbursts.

Evenso, there was a part of her that remained secretive. The next afternoon, Dawson surprised Bessie by bringing Joey's homework to the Ice House. The first surprise was that Joey hadn't been attending school. That had never been a problem before, and if Joey wasn't at school Bessie wondered where the heck she had been. According to Dawson, and this was the second surprise, she wasn't at home either.

Bessie picked Alexander up from day care and went home to see for herself…only to find Joey huddled in the pitch-black corner of her bedroom, rocking herself as she clutched Pacey's hockey jersey. Bess took her sister's hand and insisted that she lay down in the bed, promising to take her to see Pacey if she would take a nap. She tucked her in, sighing as Joey finally closed her eyes. She closed the door.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I'm a little bit scared about how bad Joey looks today. Dougie warned me that she hadn't been sleeping well. I can't imagine how she's going to take it when she hears my news, but hiding it from her is not an option.

"I've been charged, officially. They're arraigning me tomorrow," I tell her.

Joey gasps, then seems to think twice about it, putting both of her hands around mine. It's the closest thing to an embrace that I'm allowed now. "Did you get an attorney?" she asks.

"I guess I get one assigned tomorrow. Capeside's version of Legal Aid."

The tears are starting to break through. "Why? Why, Pacey?"

"New evidence, apparently," I explain, lowering my voice. "Doug says that a film has been turned in showing me at the scene."

"A film?" she says, clearly as mystified as I am. "What? A surveillance film or something?"

"I don't know. I asked, but they won't let me see it. Not even Doug can help on this one."

"Pace, I'm going to call Bodi. He told me he knows someone who specializes in pro bono work. We're going to find out what's going on."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I'm going to Dawson's!

Bodi kept his promise and called that attorney, a friend who heads the pro bono department at one of Boston's most prestigious law firms. Two hours after Pacey's arraignment, Mr. Park had the D.A. turn over everything they had under a Discovery motion. That film that suddenly showed up? It was turned in by one, Mitchell Leery.

"Dawson, you come out here, you little shit!" I demand, pounding on the front door. But it is suspiciously locked—the Leerys never lock their doors—and no one, not even a mouse, dares to respond to my furious assault on that wooden barrier. _If_ the cowards are in there. I can just imagine father and son hiding in that creepy compartment under the stairs.

I calm down a bit when I notice my right hand is beginning to bruise. Then I see one courageous soul, Jen Lindley, running over from next door.

"Joey! They're not home," she says. "Why don't you come on over? We need to talk."

"We" is apparently Jen, Jack _and_ Andie. I give them the abridged version of what's been going on the past two weeks, culminating with the last-minute appearance of this mysterious film. They tell _me_ that Jack & Andie's father is being investigated; something about off-shore investments and possible insurance scams. The police investigators are especially interested in the financing of that trip to Boston we took. I can tell Andie wants to say something, but when I press her she begs off.

"I don't want to speculate..." she pleads.

"Fine," I snark back. Good ol'Joey Potter is alive and well and moving into the new Millenium.

Yet there is hope. When I get home, Bodi has left me a message to call Brandon Park, the lawyer. Mr. Park wants Doug and I to look at the film.

"I haven't shown this to Pacey yet," he says as closes the blinds in his office. "I wanted to get both of your reactions first."

The footage is dark and grainy, almost as if the perspective has been forced. There is a brief shot of the Wagoneer pulling up beside Chez Witter. Pacey gets out and takes something in, then runs out the other way. There's some jerky digital kind of noise and then the Wagoneer speeds away. Fast forward seven minutes and you can see flames beginning to eat away at the kitchen curtains.

But something doesn't look right to me. I don't know what. "Can I see that again?" I ask Mr. Park. He nods and Doug & I move a little closer to the TV.

On the third screening, I catch something that seems almost too silly to note, but to me it's a "tell" that something's wrong. From what I can see of "Pacey", he has a decidedly unmuscular neck. I'm so tired, I think I might be hallucinating. My brain keeps recycling these obscure factoids: the broken hickory branch…the toy compass…the pay phone…Andie's reaction…

Andie's report from summer camp. Shadow puppets… cinéma vérité. Could the cinema of truth be warped into some kind of shawdow play?

"Huh," I take note.

"What?" the attorney inquires.

I hold up my hand as I concentrate on _his_ hands. Pacey's hands. My Pacey is left-handed, but this incarnation keeps running his right hand through his hair.

"Doug?" I query, noticing that Dougie is concentrating on something as well.

"Pacey has short hair," he says simply.

"And he most definitely doesn't run his hands through his hair," I comment. There is a moment's pause before it hits me. "…Dawson does."

A voice on the intercom interrupts our moment of discovery. "Officer Witter has a call on line 2."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

In response to the lab report confirming that the accelerants used in setting the fire were chemicals commonly used in film laboratories, three squad cars were sent out to Capeside High. Dawson Leery took flight as soon as he saw Doug Witter approaching him, sending the cops back to their cars to catch up.

The newest arson suspect was finally cornered in the alleyway of the Rialto Theatre. By now, several patrol cars had joined in the pursuit, crawling down the alley and blocking Dawson from going further.

"He wrecked it! He wrecked my muse! He wrecked us!" Dawson shrieked hysterically, his voice climbing in pitch as he continued his chant. When deputies moved closer, he screamed, challenging them at the same time he begged them not to kill him.

"Get the rubber jacket," Doug Witter suggested. "I think we're going to need it."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I didn't go home. I couldn't. Pop's lack of faith in me was bad enough, but digesting what Doug and Joey just told me is pretty much unfathomable. Dawson? I knew the guy was obsessed, but not Elmer Fudd Looney Tunes. It kinda makes you wonder how he managed to get away with it for so long.

Doug has offered me his pad to crash in, but one look into Joey's eyes convinces me that I won't be happy anywhere else except with her. I've been invited to stay with the Potters and don't think twice before accepting; I know where the people who care about me, my real family resides. And sleeping in Joey Potter's arms is just about the best rest cure I can think of.

I am awakened much too early the next morning. Pop has come for a talk. He's waiting for me in the driveway. "I'm sorry, son," he apologizes, "I should have listened to Doug…"

"You should have listened to _me,_ Pop. You should have believed me."

He clears his throat. "I know," he says.

"Why couldn't you?" I ask, mad that his presence is starting to affect me. "What did I ever do that made you think I was capable of that?"

He says nothing in response. He can't even look me in the eye. Is it that he can't even be bothered to defend his less than paternal behavior? He clears his throat again. "Anyway, I wanted to bring you these," he volunteers, holding up a set of keys.

"Thanks, Dad, but I already have keys to the Wagoneer."

"These are mine," he corrects me. "I want you to have the car. It's yours."

"So you're buying me off?" I say, more than a bit disgusted.

"No. My lack of trust in you is…pretty much unforgivable, I understand that. Maybe you'll eventually find it in your heart to forgive me anyway." He finally looks directly at me. "Maybe not. I just thought that this car belongs to you much more than it ever did to me, and I want you to have it."

I see Joey standing steadfast at the screen door and decide I have no desire to prolong this awkward moment. "No strings attached?" I ask, for the record.

"No strings," he states, and I take the keys.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

The men in white coats hauled Dawson off to a psychiatric hospital. Apparently, he had some kind of psychotic break—though I'm hard-pressed to figure out how that absolves his parents. Whatever. He's gone, and so too are Bessie and Bodi and Alexander. They've closed the Ice House for a long holiday weekend—not much tourist traffic in November anyway—and have set off to meet some relatives in Philadelphia. I was invited as well, but told them that Veteran's Day is for the survivors and I have my own veteran to take care of!

And I do intend to take care of him the way he deserves to be taken care of. He's the hero in this _East of Eden_ scenario.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

After dinner, the couple cuddled on the overstuffed couch. Alone together, paired as one, she would remember. No TV, no games, no distractions.

"Pace, could we do that thing we do sometimes?" she inquired sotto voce, the very tenor of her voice arousing him immediately and completely.

"You wanna do that thing?" he coughed, recovering his balance as they changed positions on the couch.

"Yeah." She touched him intimately no longer restricted by adult supervision or the greedy eyes of county jail.

"No fair," he protested with little conviction. "The rules say…"

"Are there rules to this game?" she interrupted. Hunger illuminated her as she pulled at the T-shirt Bodi gave him.

"If we're are going to define it as a game," he elaborated, "then, yes, there are rules." He playfully put some space between them and tucked his shirt back in.

"Like?" she asked, eradicating distance as she nuzzled up to him, refusing to relent.

"Like the winner of the first game gets to choose."

She moved back beside him, pushing him into the corner of the couch. She couldn't help taking notice of his tented sweatpants. Success. "Pace," she whispered, rubbing suggestively against his erection.

"Yes?" he replied, unsteady.

She took his hand and led him back into her room. "Deal," she commanded as she shut the door.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

It was an evening he would never forget.

"Three Jacks," he announced, certain that he had won the first hand.

"A straight flush," she retorted, triumphant. "Look: hearts!" she exclaimed, gleefully kissing him.

"Okay, you win."

"I want you to take off your pants," she stated, seemingly matter-of-fact but, on closer inspection, with the devil clearly in her eyes. She won the next hand as well. "Boxers. Get rid of them."

"Are you cheating?" he joked, not really caring what the answer was.

She lost the next hand on purpose. He went for the thong underwear he knew she was wearing under her skirt. On the next hand, she asked him to kiss her and he kissed her there. "Oooh, I love Strip or Kiss Poker," she giggled.

A few moments later, the cards were scattered around them as more clothes were shed and the pair begin licking and kissing each other. Practice had made them much more adept at focusing on one another's needs even as they were being pleasured. The harder the boy became with her sensual ministrations, the more expertly he seemed to retaliate, using his fingers to gain leverage, and to gain entrance.

The girl knew she was whimpering like an idiot, but couldn't help herself—and it followed that the more she mewled, the more turned on he became. She screamed his name against the testicles she had been suckling on, moving away for a moment, her legs spasming before she took his enlarged tip back into her mouth. He moaned deliriously when she traced a finger gently down the vein now throbbing with anticipation. She shivered again, sucking on him harder.

"Oh God, Joey" he groaned as he felt his body losing the battle. "Move away, baby, I'm coming." But she refused. His focus shifted to that singular point of nirvana as his buttocks tightened and he let go with a final, shaky thrust; he came in her mouth. She seemed a bit surprised.

"I'm sorry," he said, sensing discomfort.

"I'm not," she replied, smiling to reassure him.

"Come here," he said, holding out his arms to help her move back in the bed.

The couple finished undressing, then snuggled under the covers, exchanging I love yous and kissing passionately until both were nearly exhausted. He rested his head on her breast, taking in her delicious scent, capturing her in another warm embrace before both nodded off to sleep.

She woke up the next morning as if in a dream. She looked lovingly at her naked partner, wondering when it was that she became so comfortable with their nudity. She guessed it was the moment she figured out that it was about the love and not the sex between them. The internal argument still continued in her head about what really constituted sex, but she knew that whatever the definition, it had to include Pacey Witter in there somewhere.

She was overcome with emotion—she wanted him that badly, that truly. But for the moment, she was content to watch him sleep. "I love you," she said, brushing his hair back the way she liked it. She was happy that his journey of late had not included a trip to the barber shop.

"I love you, too, Jo," he said from his no longer dormant position.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Pace? I…uh…I mean, do you think…"

"What?" I ask, sympathetic to her needs—which are, in fact, mine as well. I slide my body up to her level so I can look directly into her eyes. "What do you want, sweetheart?"

The damn butterflies were keeping her from speaking intelligibly. "You," she says finally. "I want you."

"You've got me, sweetheart."

"And a condom."

That was a lightning bolt. I didn't expect that. At the same time, however, I can tell by the look on her face that there's no need to go down the long list of why this is or isn't the right time. Her soft smile communicates everything I need to know. It's _our_ time.

"Do you have one?" she asks. If she's as nervous as I am, her insides are pretty much molten right now.

"No," I confess. That search of my wallet before I was locked up had taken care of that; Principal Markey had thrown the expired condom out in disgust.

"Wait here," she instructs me. Two minutes later, Joey is back with a handful of condoms. "Bodi's stash," she shrugs. "Bessie goes through my dresser drawers—does she really think I never check hers?"

I can't help laughing. My girl is as pragmatic as she is sexy. Right now, I am determined to work on the latter, pulling her back onto the bed. We kissed luxuriantly. Joey reaches for a condom, but I stop her, placing my hand on hers.

"Let's not rush this," is my request. It may not be my first time having sex, but it is my first time making love. I want to savor every moment with her—_with_ her—and make it as meaningful for her as it is to me.

She nods in agreement, and there's that lopsided smile again. The smile straightens out to full-fledged intensity as we lay back on the bed, kissing, taking our time to adjust ourselves to the potent feeling of bodies colliding, separating and joining in a joyous sweaty mend.

I embrace her left breast with my lips, gently kissing and nipping at the rosebud while pinching the pert nipple of her right breast with my callused hand. She squeals.

"Like that?" I murmur against her breast.

"Hmm mmm," she purrs.

She parts her legs invitingly, but I have other things to take care of right now—chiefly, that neglected left breast. She moves as if unsure what to do with herself and I acquiesce, allowing my left hand to meander south to please her. My lips soon follow that trail, nibbling around her stomach, then her belly button. She opens her legs further to allow me access, but I avoid that temptation and move to her legs, kissing her calves, then the inside of her knee…right, then left.

"Pacey, please," she begs, writhing as the ache inside her grows too unbearable to deny.

I move back up while my fingers plunge into her vagina. She is so tight. She is waiting for me and my dick is so hard I don't think that I can wait much longer either. I reach for one of the condom packages, standing up to put on the latex sheath. Joey watches in awe.

Or at least I would like to think so. She worries her lower lip and I am lost in the desire to fill her completely.

"Do you think…Oh God," she groans as we lay back together, my tip poised at her entrance.

"I love you," I tell her, seeking reassurance.

"I love you, too," she responds immediately and, miraculously, with no trace of doubt in her voice.

"Okay?" I ask for permission while peering soulfully into those loving brown eyes. Her eyes reflect our mutual longing.

She deposits a series of unhurried kisses across my chest. "Yes," she says simply, drawing me in with her long legs.

One thrust and she surrounds me in amazing warmth, which I return in slow steady strokes. Her eyes shine as if lit from within. We lock eyes, mesmerized by the feeling of oneness, echoing and chanting each other's name until the emotion fills the room, even as we fill each other.

Joey gasps and her subsequent moan escalates to a feverish pitch, falling to near complete silence, then suddenly more panting and a long, drawn out mewl. My body is tingling and I wonder if she feels that way, too. Every milli-second so alive. This is most definitely our moment and I love her so much. Her increased tightness as she climaxes pushes me hopelessly over the edge. I am out of control, heading towards pure rapture.

"Joey, Joey, Joey…ah!" I grunt, releasing everything within me, conceding surrender to her maternal being. I sputter a breathless "I love you" before collapsing beside her, settling once more against her breast. She mews sweetly in the haze of her own euphoria.

"That was fantastic," she says, another smile decorating her face. It's nice to see her smiling again. Her face is relaxed and I think she has never been more beautiful.

She holds me tight as the covers settle around us, and I hold on tight back.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

We spent the rest of the day in bed. Making love, showering, making love, eating, making love as we watched cartoons, making love while the world went on around us.

Veteran's Day began like any other day…except that it wasn't. It was different. _We_ were different. I woke up in Pacey's arms, sore and grinning like the Cheshire cat. He was still deep in slumber, and I was deep in wanting. My pathetic attempts to arouse him have failed. Refusing to give up without one last stand, I scoot to the end of the bed. Time for a little BJ attention.

Pacey awakens with a loud groan.

"Hey, sleepy head. Happy Veteran's Day," I announce as I continue going down on him. He is so aroused, I don't think it'll be long before I move on top.

"Mmmm," he growls, and I can't think about anything else except him.

Neither one of us hear the knock on the door. "Hey, Jo. We decided to come straight h---"

**zzzzzzzzzz**

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Next up: **New Year's Eve**


End file.
